Legends of Belariath

Mozenwrathe

Longbow Stalkers - Circumstances Dictate

*standing by a window at Unigo, a lone figure opens a scroll sent to him sealed with the crest of the Vermillion Brigadeers. making sure to unravel it silently, the long hair of the youthful high elf shines in the moonlight, a wonderful aurora of brass and flaxen gold around his head. smiling softly to himself, the magician touches the wax of the seal and allows it to unravel itself in midair, his spell of telekinesis holding the written words in place. having hidden his true identify from the majority of the people who have traveled through the Tower of Unigo, the high elven Earth mage feels naught but relief and a little dollop of homesickness as he reads the scroll to himself once, and then again.

the scroll is actually a letter sent to him from an agent of the Vermillion Brigadeers, Tayrin Lankshaft. as he reads through it, the older brother of the stalker of the darkness smiles to himself and considers his own return to the gentle village of his birth. known as Sparkfire to the others within the Tower, Crestshimmer Lankshaft the Loyal returns to his quarters and packs his accrued life into a few satchels and bags. not much is there to move, but many of the spellbooks he has scribed for himself are far heavier in groups than they are individually. sighing to himself that he did not train more in the physical arts, the bronze-skinned elf shoulders the weight carefully before proceeding with his clothes and other smaller items.

making his way down to the stables, the not-quite intrepid Crestshimmer thinks back to a few moments in recent history and pauses. considering once what his disappearance might do to the others, he leaves a small silver coin on top of a silver dagger. a symbol of his safety, he leaves the Tower of Unigo without another word, saddling up two horses and leaving for the village of his birth. not once does he look back, for the image of the Tower during the night is one burned into his memory forever, as that was the time of day he first approached it.*

It is over.

I know not how, and I know not why, but I know it is over. My quest to seek out the monster known as Story has ended, but not to my satisfaction at all. A powerful sorcerer and talented assassin, Story never bothered to hide from any except his former Mistress, the glorious Rhysia Yrilliach. Though many a time did I see him or come across his trail, never could I safely encounter him to bring him to justice. And now, that goal is forever lost to me.

I now have nothing to do, in essence.

I spent the greater part of the past two years hunting him down and gathering the evidence needed to have him executed before the high courts of the kingdom I was born in. Tyrrian as well had a vested interest in his recapture, but from what I was told Rhysia Yrilliach did find him and slew him herself, only for him to be resurrected again by his dark elf allies. I know not how he could have been summoned back from the void so many times, as such an unnatural being as he never should have been able to survive the light of truth and justice like he flaunted.

For some reason, I am not in the least relieved that he has fallen finally to the fates. As there is no proof of a body, no signs that he has truly been cast from this realm, I cannot fall slack in my vigilance. Never once have I known such uncertainty as when the soothsayers my current companions and I visited told us of the "news." And with that, did we know it was true, but still hard to believe. With all the times he has perished before, how could one be certain of his never returning to the surface - or below it for that matter? Seeking out one rogue human slayer in the midst of the belly of Belariath's land masses was anathema to all of us. None of us could envision surviving long without the sun and stars to guide us and give us strength. Perhaps employing the assistance of the dwarven realms would be required, but Story had never been known to strike down the stockier races with the same impudence as he did my own.

My vision is blurred this night in the inn while I drink down yet another ale. My allies surround me this evening as we down flagon after flagon of fine ale all paid for by a stash of coin we found of the late murderous bastard. There is nothing wrong with using his ill-gotten gains to celebrate his passing, for the rest shall we repatriate to those less fortunate back home. The mahogany minion of darkness had caches of Mehrials scattered throughout the area to the north of this tavern, The Lonely Inn.

I assume this was due to his mistrust of established brokerages. (Given his history of assassinating people with a lot of money or power, I blame him not. He may have inadvertantly saved someone's life by doing just that.)

Now I have to decide what next is in store for us. First, of course, we must return to the home of the Vermillion Brigadeers, and tell of our findings. Then shall we cast these coins we have found to our poorer relations and fellow villagers. Many of the heirarchy believe all such bloodsoaked bounty should be keep safe in the coffers of the main fortress and parceled out as expense accounts to the agents of the organization. Many on the ground level think they are lying, for many are from the courts of Tyrrian or elsewhere, and have chosen posts for themselves of prestige without having to prove their worth in the field. We will merely state we won in various gambling setups while using our activities to search for the dark-souled mage. None may gainsay us, for we DID go to a few halls of chance during our stay here.

A few of my acquaintances have said "a darker force than the assassin Story still walks the land." His name is no secret to me - Sha-Ka`. No longer Sha-Ka` Selu, he is now known by his true Name, that of a member of the dark elf House Emboitant. A necromancer of no small means, he is the one I spoke of once having an arrow previously notched for his left eye. Perhaps it is time I let fly with it, and then with the second shaft seek out his right eye as well. Where Story was more a focused evil, this fallen elven sorcerer of death seems to be more chaotic, more allowing himself to seethe and flow, crashing over barriers like a great tide. And this tide he seeks to bring forth could be one akin to the Plague one nymph keeps refering to like a Great Enemy. This, however, is not my decision to make... yet.

More dark elf that that one continue to frequent The Lonely Inn, however. The legendary Elthorion Kinslayer uses the place as his personal stomping grounds as well. Not to say that I would favour one over the other, but at least the one known as Kinslayer is not actively out to seek the deaths of those around him. In fact, he seems to be far more... mellow would be the word I would use to describe him. Not altogether a bad person, but he is still dark elf and therefore still needs killing. Far less of a threat than the late Story, but still any dark elf with a history like his needs to be removed from Belariath's beautiful surface forever.

Yes, I may have become more vengeful and vindictive since we last spoke. It is due to the ugliness of the world I exist in. Every time I seek to improve it, another seeks to sully its splendor, and of this have I had enough. Some time at home will do me well, and those whom have ridden with me all this way. Perhaps a few days working the fields will sweat and blaze this fury from my body, leaving me as pure as the snow which melts into the rivers, swelling them.

And on your way home, as I am sure you will head after reading this, be sure to be wary of freshwater kraken. There will be many this year, of that I am sure. Great eating, but horrible to face alone or in groups. And I am talking about a group of stouthearted warriors and mages, not a group of the freshwater tentacled monsters of the lakes. They never gather unless it is a feeding frenzy from a fallen dragon or discovered a lair of the winter wurms... or something else more deadly is hunting them.

Whatever the tale may be, use the more traveled routes, and be not afraid to invoke fear and suffering in the forms of those who dare impede your progress with greed and lust for your blood in their eyes.

*the letter goes on in detail about the better paths to take, what various stops along the way are the best ones, and exactly how much the high elven stalker of darkness misses home cooked meals. Crestshimmer laughs silently at this while reading the scrolls again along the road. "Ah Tayrin," the high elven mage thinks to himself with humour, "always thinking with your stomach."*

BACK